but glancing at the Man of Wrath.

No answer from anybody.

"It is such a pretty dance," she panted again, after a
few more gyrations.

No answer.

"And is all the rage at home."

No answer.

"Do let me teach you. Won't you try, Herr Sage?"

She went up to him and dropped him a little curtesy.
It is thus she always addresses him, entirely oblivious to the fact,
so patent to every one else, that he resents it.

"Oh come, put away that tiresome old book,"
she went on gaily, as he did not move; "I am certain it
is only some dry agricultural work that you just nod over.
Dancing is much better for you."
Irais and I looked at one another quite frightened.
I am sure we both turned pale when the unhappy girl actually laid
hold forcibly of his book, and, with a playful little shriek,
ran away with it into the next room, hugging it to her bosom
and looking back roguishly over her shoulder at him as she ran.
There was an awful pause. We hardly dared raise our eyes.
Then the Mall of Wrath got up slowly, knocked the ashes off the end